


Dressed

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, for both of them, hallowe'en motto party, nothing spooky tho, rather a bit of crossdressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-29 16:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21144212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: “You can’t do that, Theon. Seriously. He won’t come if he has to wear this.”“Oh, he’ll come alright,” Theon mumbles around his finger, sucking it gingerly. “I have a very simple way of ensuring that.”“And what is that?” Robb asks dubiously, setting the sheet back down.Theon grins, taking the pen again. “I’ll invite Arya.” And with a flourish he underlines the last name on the list.Jon Snow - costume: Esmeralda





	Dressed

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I got this prompt some time ago as a joke and because the OP knows about my... erm... little fantasy of the guys doing Rocky Horror, and of course their own little fantasy (that I share) of Jon in a dress. 
> 
> The original prompt:
> 
> Prompt! Theon has a HW party. Guests get assigned a costume, and Jon's is a woman's one (?princess). Theon's joke ofc, but when he sees how upset Jon is (who HAS to come, bec he promised to escort his lil sis), he gets the guilts and dresses up too. Corset/fishnets? He looks great bec his bone structure suits drag makeup. Poor Jon, who's put on no make up at all (but has shaved, obvs) looks so pretty he's mistaken for a girl all night. Drunken confessions of attraction and a hook up ensue.
> 
> I know they didn't really think I'd fill it, and I didn't think so either, but yesterday inspiration hit and here we go!

“Let me see what you’ve got so far,” Robb says, curiously peeking over Theon’s shoulder. “Ooh, nice one!” He points at a name in the middle of the list. “Sansa’ll love it.”

“She called me yesterday and told me if she’s not going to be a princess she’ll tell everyone my darkest secrets.” Theon thinks for a moment, then scribbles another name and costume assignment on the sheet. “Can’t risk people finding out I slept with a plushie until I was fourteen.”

“I remember that,” Robb says, leaning his whole weight against Theon’s shoulder as he tries to read the latest addition. “It was a… jellyfish?”

“Squid,” Theon mutters, elbowing Robb in the ribs. “Get off me, Stark, you’re too heavy for this shit.”

“I want to… oh dear god.” Robb snatches the list out of Theon’s hands, giving him a papercut in the process. “You can’t do that, Theon. Seriously. He won’t come if he has to wear this.”

“Oh, he’ll come alright,” Theon mumbles around his finger, sucking it gingerly. “I have a very simple way of ensuring that.”

“And what is that?” Robb asks dubiously, setting the sheet back down.

Theon grins, taking the pen again. “I’ll invite Arya.” And with a flourish he underlines the last name on the list. 

_ Jon Snow - costume: Esmeralda _

***

“I’m not going.” Jon tries to rip the fancy invitation card in half, failing when the glossy black material defies his efforts. “He’s… just… being… _ dammit_!!” With one last, violent rip the invitation finally yields and sails to the floor in two halves. Jon is panting, face hot; he wipes back the annoying strands of hair sticking in his eyes. “He’s just being an asshole as usual and I’m _ not _ going to give him any more fodder!”

“Then don’t go,” Sansa says, rolling her eyes. “No one’s forcing you. Ridiculous idea, really. You’d look like a fool in that costume.”

“Which is exactly why Theon has assigned it to me. And why I’m not going,” Jon concludes, slightly miffed about Sansa’s dismissive words. Not that he wants to look good in a dress, but the idea being rebuffed like that before he’s even tried… “What’s your assignment, then?”

“Ariel when she’s a princess,” Sansa says smugly. “I have to get mum to make me that pink dress. Robb’s Prince Charming from Cinderella,” she adds. 

“Of course he is,” Jon mutters. “Is everyone a Disney Character?”

“No, just the three of us as far as I know.” Sansa’s typing furiously on her phone. “Margaery and her brother got Poison Ivy and Joker from the DC verse. And she just wrote Renly got Batman.”

“Great. Just great. Why can’t I be Batman?” Jon notices he sounds whiny and sighs. “What is the gracious host going to be?”

“He didn’t say,” Sansa mutters, still focused on her phone. “But I bet it’ll be something piratey.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely not going,” Jon states firmly. That’s the last thing he needs, Theon in some frilly shirt and tight breeches and—

“GUESS WHAT!!!” Arya comes storming in, waving a black something in her hand. “Theon invited me to his party!” Jon feels his mouth falling open as Arya skids to a stop in front of him, shoving her invitation in his face. “I’m going as Peter Pan!” 

“He… what?” Jon asks dumbly. _ Arya’s _ invited? 

“Who are you dressing as?” 

“He’s not going,” Sansa informs her. “I’m Ariel.”

“Yeah, cool.” Arya rolls her eyes before fixing Jon with a stern glare, looking exactly like her father. “What’s that mean you’re not going? If I go, you go too!”

Jon’s insides curl into a tightly twisted knot of dread as he realizes what’s happening. Apparently there’s no limit to the lengths Theon will go to put him in a dress – inviting Arya, for fuck’s sake! Meaning the party will have to be PG-13. And now – now he has to go. In a dress. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck _ fuck! _

***

Humming to himself Theon peruses his closet. There’s a lot of costumes to choose from, but in the end it’s probably going to be Will Turner again. Captain of the Flying Dutchman Will. With a sigh he steps to the side, opening the top drawer in his dresser. The costume he really wants to wear is kept in there. But he’ll never be brave enough to do it. Not that he wouldn’t rock it, there’s no doubt about that. But the thought of what the others would say if they saw him dressed in high heels, stockings and corset… Better not. 

Better focus on the highlight of the party. Robb’s already told him that Snow is going to come, grudgingly and dragged there against his will by Arya, but _ there. _In a dress. Theon has seen the cheap Esmeralda costumes on Amazon, and partly regrets not going for Alice through the looking glass. That would’ve been a sight on Snow, knee-length, girly dress, hairband in his curls… He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the image. Too tempting. 

It’s a little like torturing himself, alongside Snow. And while torturing Snow is definitely the bigger part of Theon’s motivation, he can’t quite convince himself that it’s the _ only _ part. Snow in a dress is a sight to be seen. There had been that one time, two years ago, when Snow had lost a bet and had been forced to walk around in one of Sansa’s dresses for a whole day. And while it had definitely been funny – especially Snow’s face when hooted at on the street by those roadworkers – it had also been disturbingly sexy. 

Since then Theon has been merciless in teasing Snow at every opportunity, subscribing him for all sorts of women’s wear catalogues, making jokes and generally doing everything he can to not let on how turned on he is by the mere thought. Snow is a pretty boy on any day, but in a dress… He looks better than any girl Theon knows. Better than Theon would. 

With a regretful sigh he slams the drawer shut, turning back to the wardrobe and his usual costume party outfit. Snow will have to be the only one. That’s something to look forward to in any case. Theon throws a look at his watch. Three more hours until the first guests will arrive. The finger food is ready, the drinks are ready - including non-alcoholic stuff for Arya, the decoration has been up since yesterday and Ash’ll pick up the desserts on her way over. All prepared, the only thing he’s got left to do is take a shower and be presentable. And wait for the torture to begin.

***

“I’m not going to come out! I look _ ridiculous!_”

Jon rips the pink band out of his hair, wringing it in his hands like it’s Theon’s neck. The whole costume is horrible. Especially after Sansa’s insistence on ordering him a customized one from some internet site. And it fits like a glove, Jon has to confess grudgingly. The skirt billows out just above his ankles, twirling whenever he makes a move. The bodice is tight, making it hard to breathe properly. But the worst is the blouse. It leaves his shoulders more or less free, which is the most ridiculous of all because his shoulders are too broad and it’s stupid and–

“Jon, we need to get going! Aren’t you… you…”

Robb, having poked his head inside Jon’s room, loses his speech mid-sentence as he stares at his cousin. Jon wants the floor to swallow him. 

“Well, fuck me,” Robb finally manages to say. “That’s… damn, Jon. You look… fuck!”

“That stupid?” Jon mutters dejectedly. 

“This,” Robb says earnestly, “is the least stupid thing you have ever worn. You look unbelievable.”

“You’re having me on,” Jon says sceptically. “I look like a… a…”

“Wet dream,” Robb finishes dryly, blushing furiously as soon as the words have left his mouth. “Aaah, I mean… not that… you know.” He takes a deep breath, still gaping at Jon. “I wonder what Theon is going to say to this.”

“‘Haha’, I expect.” Jon swivels around, giving his reflection a quick once-over before hanging his head with a groan. “Let’s get this over with so I can finally kill myself.”

***

The party has just started when the four of them walk in together. People are standing around in little groups, chatting over the loud music. Sansa immediately makes a beeline for her friend Margaery, who’s wearing nothing but a couple of leaves and a lot of body paint. Good gods. Her brother on the other hand – Jon can only stare. He’d never thought he’d see the day where the Joker is locked in a heated snog with Batman. 

Behind Jon, Robb enters in his white, embroidered uniform, one hand firmly on Arya’s shoulder. She’s clad in green tights and some kind of tunic Catelyn has cut into the right shape, and she’s brandishing a little plastic sword excitedly. Jon envies her. Even green tights would be better than this ludicrous turnout he’s forced to sport. 

“Hey, you’re here!” Theon, predictably clad in dark breeches, a wine-red shirt and a black overcoat, comes sweeping through the room towards them. He’s tied his hair back with a dark bandana and looks alarmingly attractive. His gaze wanders over them, of course getting stuck on Jon. Jon forces his face into a blank look as he waits for the inevitable burst of laughter – it never comes. Theon stares, looking as if he’s having a stroke. 

“Er… well… welcome,” he says distractedly, before turning on the heels of his leather boots and disappearing into the kitchen. 

Well. Jon has no idea what to make of that. Maybe… could Robb have been right? Maybe he doesn’t look stupid? Maybe he looks… _ good? _ But before he can follow that thought, a pair of hands grabs his waist from behind and he’s spun around, looking straight into Torrhen Karstark’s grinning face. 

“Why, helloo,” he drawls, not in the slightest deterred when he realizes Jon is Jon. “Looking lovely today, Snow!” His big paws start sliding down until they’re coming to lie on Jon’s buttocks, squeezing them, and Jon steps back with an indignated squawk. 

“Keep your hands to yourself, you big oaf!” he cries, futilely shoving his hands against Torrhen’s broad chest, covered by a Roman breastplate. “Stop groping me!”

Torrh looks like he’d rather do the opposite, his grin turning positively leery as he starts massaging Jon’s bum through his skirts. But before Jon can do what he wants to do – introducing his knee to Torrhen’s crotch – rescue comes in form of Peter Pan, poking Torrh in the rips with her sword. With a pained grunt he lets go of Jon, turning to face his tiny opponent. 

“Away from my cousin, scoundrel!” Arya crows, looking as if she’d like to poke him some more. 

Admitting defeat, Torrhen shrugs and, after giving Jon a glance so dirty he wants to go take a shower, leaves the field. Jon can’t blame him, Arya looks fierce. 

“Thanks,” he tells her. “Seems I need a bodyguard, eh?”

Arya just grins, giving him a roguish wink before disappearing again to spread fear in the hearts of the party guests. 

***

It’s only one hour later that Jon wishes she would’ve actually stayed at his side. He can’t recount how often he’s been grabbed, groped, manhandled and leered at since his arrival, and he’s thoroughly fed up with it. If that is what women go through on a daily basis, Jon can’t wonder about their anger. He’s sorely tempted to start his own metoo campaign. When at last Quentyn Martell grabs his curls and presses a smacking kiss to Jon’s lips, he’s had enough. Throwing angry glances at all of them pissing themselves with laughter he gathers his skirts and what’s left of his dignity, and flees the scene. 

The room he ends up in is clean and sparingly furnished. The bed is unmade, heaps of clothes lying on top of it, and with a sudden rush of excitement Jon realizes he’s in Theon’s bedroom. He wanders around, tempted to snoop through the drawers, but in the end his sense of honour wins through. Instead he lets himself slump down on the bed with a sigh. He’s tired, he’s thoroughly done with the people out there and the covers feel soft when he drives his hand over the fabric. 

Jon yawns, eyes drooping. He hasn’t seen Theon since he’d greeted him and the others upon their arrival. He’s probably incredibly busy, what with hosting and partying. Maybe he’s working on his lay for the night. Anyway, Jon is reasonably sure Theon won’t retire to bed anytime soon, so he lies back, turning a little to bury his face in the pillow. It smells nice, comfortable, and with a content little sigh Jon closes his eyes. Fuck ‘em all. 

***

At half past eleven Theon stumbles into his room, throwing his undoubtedly handsome but heavy, warm cloak aside and closing the door behind him with a sigh. He needs a break. As much as he enjoys hosting his yearly Hallowe’en motto party… it’s bloody exhausting. Especially when Ash reaches a certain level of intoxication and demands to do body shots off the cute, blonde foreign girl. Not that blondie has seemed to protest too much, but watching his sister enthusiastically plucking a lemon out of someone’s mouth isn’t really Theon’s idea of a jolly good time. 

A fight had broken out among Trystane Martell and that idiot Baratheon boy - who Theon had invited on Sansa’s request - and that little demon Arya had been in everybody’s way all the time, thwarting Theon’s attempts of bagging himself Ros’ company for the night by bending Ros’ ears with her childish chattering. Now he’s thoroughly whacked, and the party is likely to last into the wee hours of the morning. Just a short moment, Theon thinks as he approaches the bed, then he’ll go out again.

At least he hasn’t seen too much of Snow so far. Stupid bastard, he looks better than Theon could have ever imagined, with his dancing dark curls, eyes sparking angrily at him, clean-shaven cheeks flushed… Sure, Theon had noticed his predicament with the guys, feeling slightly guilty about having put him into the situation. But it has been very wise _ not _to concentrate on Snow too much. Theon sighs, unable to not think of the way Snow’s shoulders look when framed with a white blouse, only accentuating his pale skin and lovely, biteable collarbones… He sinks onto the bed, only to jump up again with an oath when he finds it already occupied. 

“Wha–” the someone in his bed mumbles, and Theon stares at Snow’s dishevelled head in disbelief. 

He looks like he’s just been roused from a really deep slumber, a pillow crease on one of his pink cheeks, his hair standing up around his head like a fluffy cloud, mouth soft and plump… Theon snatches his gaze up to Snow’s eyes, hazy and confused. 

“What… what are you do–doing here?” he asks between yawns, blinking at Theon owlishly. 

“I… just… the fuck, Snow, this is _ my _ room!” Theon frowns indignantly. There he goes, avoiding Snow only to find him in his bed with hair as if he’s had a wild tumble– “What are _ you _ doing here, more like,” he finishes sourly.”

“Tired.” Snow yawns again, stretching so that the darned blouse slips over one shoulder, unerringly drawing Theon’s gaze. “Party still in full swing?” he asks, looking around. Upon Theon’s nod he lies back again, giving Theon a look of utter disdain. “I’m not going out there again until everyone’s gone.”

Theon’s brain is working frantically. However he accomplishes it – but Snow just has to vanish from his bed. And from the face of the earth as long as he’s wearing this… this… Theon catches himself staring at the curve of Snow’s throat, at his cheeks, looking strange without the usual stubble. Theon wonders if they’d feel soft under his fingers. He shakes his head, angry with himself. Snow has to leave. 

“Don’t be a coward, Snow,” he says, putting on his best sneer. “What, they get a little handsy and you hide in here like a maiden in distress? The last guy who thought he could grab Ash’s arse landed himself in hospital with a testicular torsion.” Theon grins as Snow shudders. “Where’s your spirit, man?”

“No.” 

Snow shakes his pretty head categorically and Theon wants to strangle him. 

“Come on,” he needles. “What do I have to do to get you out there?”

Snow seems to think hard for a while, chewing on his lower lip in a way that has Theon’s blood rushing south, making him more desperate than ever to get temptation out of the way. 

“Alright,” he finally says, to Theon’s immense relief. It’s short lived though, for Snow fixes him with a determined glare and takes a deep breath. “If you dress up as a girl as well.”

Theon’s inappropriate thoughts come to an abrupt standstill as the meaning of Snow’s words filters through. 

“Dress… I… huh?”

“And go out with me like that,” Snow clarifies, eyebrows raised expectantly. When Theon continues to gape at him, completely flabbergasted, Snow snorts. “Who’s the coward now, Greyjoy?”

“I…” What the fuck. “I don’t have any women’s clothes.”

“Pity,” Snow mutters, rolling onto his side and giving Theon a look of heartbreaking disinterest. “Then I guess I’ll stay here until everyone is gone.”

“What… what about Arya?”Theon blabbers, grasping at straws. “Don’t you have to take her home? It’s nearly midnight!”

“Yeah, you try getting Arya to go home,” Snow says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, her brother’s out there somewhere, he can see to that.”

Fuck. Theon closes his eyes, cursing inwardly. Snow is lying there like a bloody feast, all sprawled out _ on Theon’s fucking bed,_ all pouty mouth and silky skin and _ that damned dress!! _

“Alright!!!” 

He nearly screams it, desperate to get rid of Snow once and for all and never see him again. That’s absolutely the last thing he needs, getting rejected by Jon fucking Snow. It’d give him the upper hand in their dynamic. And of course he’d inevitably tell Robb and Theon would never hear the end of it. 

“Would a Frank N. Furter costume be acceptable?” he asks weakly. “I have everything for that here.”

And if it weren’t so bloody embarrassing, Theon would be taking great delight in the look on Snow’s face.

***

Jon’s ears are ringing. Maybe he’s still dreaming? Or he’s having very realistic hallucinations. But in no way is it possible that Theon fucking Greyjoy has a corset and fishnet stockings stowed away somewhere. It just isn’t. Jon pinches himself in the thigh, and it hurts a bloody lot even through the skirts. Theon is looking everywhere but at Jon, face a faint pink, apparently mortified, and maybe… Jon swallows. Oh dear gods it’s actually true. 

“Get on with it then,” he says, wincing at how husky his voice comes out. 

But, fuck, the thought of Theon dressed like that… well, it’s certainly not horrible. 

Theon eyes him with a suddenly speculative gaze Jon isn’t sure he likes before he demands Jon turn his back on him. Jon does, with a lot of huffing and eye-rolling. It’s surprisingly hard, not to sneak a glance over his shoulder as the rustling of clothes indicates what’s happening. A drawer is opened, more rustling, a few bitten-off curses and then the drawer is shut again. Theon behind him takes a deep breath and Jon can’t contain a shiver of anticipation. 

“Alright,” Theon says, sounding deeply resigned. “Have a good long look and laugh your arse off.”

Jon turns around very slowly. For a long time he doesn’t say anything, just looks Theon up and down without as much as a breath. It’s… definitely not something to laugh about. Theon looks… Jon feels heat rising in him, his mouth suddenly parched. He looks amazing. The way the stockings are hugging his calves, the high heels making his long legs seem even longer, the corset ending just below his nipples… The heat in Jon’s belly turns into a blaze. They’re round, copper-coloured, and hardening to stiff points under Jon’s gaze. 

It’s an effort, tearing his gaze away and looking at Theon’s face. He has his head turned to the side, eyes not meeting Jon’s. He trembles, and somehow it tugs at Jon’s heart. It’s strange, and endearing, seeing Theon Greyjoy without his usual cocky demeanour. 

“I’m not laughing,” Jon says softly. Theon’s gaze flickers to him for a moment, wary. Jon smiles. “But I think you’re still missing something.”

“Am I?” Theon asks, puzzled, now looking fully at Jon. “And what?”

“Well… where’s the lipstick?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Theon hedges, lifting his chin defiantly. “Why would I have makeup?”

“It’s part of the costume,” Jon says with a shrug. “Don’t tell me you don’t have everything you need.”

For a moment Theon just stares at him before he turns around, muttering grumpily under his breath. Jon watches his shoulders move as he brings his hands to his face, but then Jon makes the mistake and looks down, to where black pants are tightly clinging to Theon’s arse. Before he knows what he’s doing Jon has clambered to his feet, skirts rustling as he slowly walks over. 

“Happy now?” Theon asks as he turns around, flinching when he finds Jon right behind him. He’s gorgeous. Lips shining in a deep red, his high cheekbones accentuated by a light blush, and his eyes… Jon has no idea what kind of a face he’s making, but Theon must see something in Jon’s eyes. He swallows, attempts a weak smile. “Snow? Does it look alright?”

Jon doesn’t answer, just raises his hand as if hypnotised, wiping away a smear of lipstick next to Theon’s mouth. “Perfect,” he croaks, and then Theon crashes into him. 

Jon sways, clinging to Theon’s naked shoulders as his tongue dives between Jon’s lips, rough and frantic, consuming every fibre in Jon’s body. The heat is rising, higher and higher until Jon feels like he’s going up in flames. They stumble to the bed, falling onto it in a tangle of limbs, hot, hotter, lips moving faster, hands roaming over dark velvet, diving beneath skirts, touching naked flesh. Theon’s mouth breaks away, latches onto Jon’s collarbone, licking, biting, growling with need. 

Jon moans, breath hitching, his dick pulsing in Theon’s hand, something hard rubbing against his thigh until Theon tenses, groans, hand moving faster until Jon’s vision goes white and his heart takes off in his chest. 

***

It takes a while until Theon comes down from his high. He squints, turning his head to the side and finding Snow looking back. He’s smiling a slightly dopey smile, his mouth looking as if he’s drunk blood. Theon grins, raising a hand and swiping his thumb over Snow’s lips. 

“You look like a very satisfied vampire,” he says, delighted when Snow chuckles. 

“You don’t look any better yourself,” he retorts, shifting until he’s propped on Theon’s chest. “And I thought I’m alone with my misplaced attraction.”

“Misplaced?” Theon demands, faking outrage. “Perfectly placed if you ask me.” He cocks his head, listening intently. “Hey, I think the party is still going on out there. Want to go out with me?”

“Like this?” Snow’s eyes widen comically. “Can you imagine what we’d get to hear until doomsday if we go out like _ this? _ Besides, I’m sticky and tired.” He yawns again. “Why don’t we wait until they’re all gone and then take a shower?” He wiggles his eyebrows rather unsexily and Theon laughs. 

“As you wish, my lady,” he teases, bending down to smudge the lipstick on their mouths some more. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love prompts, seriously meant or otherwise - you'll never know what's going to come of it :)
> 
> I'm on tumblr as owlsinathens *waves*


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